


Interrogation

by Atiaran



Series: Samara [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atiaran/pseuds/Atiaran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Fallout: New Vegas fic.  A recounting of Silus's interrogation at Camp McCarren.  Female Courier, named Samara; mild spoilers.  Hints of Boyd/Silus, if you squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interrogation

**Standard disclaimer:**  None of the characters, places, etc. in this story are mine, but are instead the property of Bethesda Game Studios.  No copyright infringement is intended by their use in this story.

 **Author’s note:**   Well, this is my first (and, so far, only) Fallout: New Vegas fic.  I really enjoyed Fallout: New Vegas; though its gameplay is very much the same as Fallout 3 I think in some ways its tenor is quite different, and I really enjoyed the way the  game maneuvered to put the Courier at the fulcrum of events.  The genesis of this fic is, of course, the interrogation between Boyd and Silus at Camp McCarren; I don’t know why, but something about their interaction just leapt out at me.  The Courier’s in this one; female, named Samara.  I’m actually still trying to figure out “who” Samara is in-game, so she may be a little rough around the edges.  For those of you who have read my Fallout 3 fics centered around my Lone Wanderer, Samantha, I will say that I intended Samara to be a _very_ different person than Samantha is.  As I conceived of her, Samantha was a naïve Vault kid who had lived a sheltered life in Vault 101 before growing up; she saw a lot of bad stuff in the Wastes, but somehow managed to maintain her idealism and essential good nature.  Samara, on the other hand, is an amnesiac Courier whose _only_ memory about her previous life is of being shot in the head and left to die by Benny.  All she knows about the world is that someone tried to kill her for reasons she knew nothing about, came damn near to succeeding, and that ever since then just about everyone she’s met has been trying to use her, play her or kill her.  As a result, she’s an _extremely_ angry person determined to break free of the forces trying to enmesh her (as soon as she can figure out just what they are) as well as get revenge on whoever put her into that situation in the first place.  She also really hates the Legion, on an almost personal level, for reasons I haven’t fully figured out yet. 

Anyway, that’s about all about this fic.  There are hints of Boyd/Silus in this fic, if you tilt your head and squint; there may be more Boyd/Silus fics in the works, but no promises. Enjoy, and as always, thanks to my beta, LadyKate, for being willing to take this fic on though it’s in a fandom she doesn’t follow.

 

 

The two of them waited silently outside the cell where Lieut. Carrie Boyd was interrogating the prisoner.  The cell was not barred, but one wall had been replaced with clear Plexiglas, and they could see inside; the prisoner, a former Legion centurion, was sallow-complected, with pale eyes and lank black hair.  Through the glass, they could see his expression: cold disdain for his interrogator, the NCR, and pretty much everything in general.  Centurions usually committed suicide to avoid capture, Arcade remembered; he wondered why this one hadn’t.  Arcade was content to wait, shifting his weight from foot to foot occasionally; but Samara was not.  She paced, her form bulky in the huge suit of Powered Armor she had been given by the Brotherhood of Steel.  ED-E followed her, the modified eyebot floating in the air like a strange, spiky satellite.   Arcade watched her.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to stay in one place for a while,” he remarked at last.  “You should save your energy; after all, you’ve got a strenuous session of interrogation coming up.”

Samara said nothing.  Arcade wondered what she was thinking.  They had been traveling together for a while now, but he still could not read her very well.  She was very, very good at hiding her thoughts, almost as good as…

 _As I am,_ he admitted to himself ruefully.  The voices of the two in the cell drifted out through the Plexiglas, muffled by the barrier.

“… _but you know that slave collar you said you had for me, Silus?  You might want to save it for someone else.”_   Carrie Boyd’s usual brisk tones were low and menacing.  Arcade couldn’t repress a shiver down his spine.

 _“Oh? For whom?”_   the legionary replied coolly.

 “ _For a friend of mine you’re about to meet.  She isn’t very docile.”_

_“And just who is your friend?”_

“ _You know all those rules the NCR has about how to treat captured prisoners?”_

 _“Of course.”_ It had been a long time, Arcade mused, since he had met someone who could pack that much scorn into two short syllables.

 _“Well…my friend doesn’t.  Oh, and Silus?”_ Boyd continued, delicately sweet.  _“If you resist her in any way? I’ll blow your brains out._ ” 

Arcade reached out and laid a hand on her armor.  Samara stopped her pacing and donned her helmet.  

“Sounds like they’re ready for you,” Arcade told her.  “Showtime.”

Something about the way Samara’s tones crackled through her speakers in answer made his stomach knot up sickly.

_“Showtime.”_

[*]

Silus sat and calmly watched Boyd exit his cell, a slight, contemptuous smile tugging at his lips.  Now, he knew, was the time for the next act in this little charade; he’d frankly expected her to fall back on it earlier than this.  Now she would haul in someone, probably some degenerate mercenary she’d dragged in from the Waste, to rough him up a little _—though not too much, of course,_ he thought scornfully—in hopes that it would loosen his tongue.  It was all so predictable—and all so pathetic.  He’d managed, over many, many years of fighting NCR troopers, to develop some grudging respect for their soldiers, based on their fighting ability; but his time in captivity was rapidly eroding even that.  _The NCR **are** weak.  Sheep.  Just as I’d suspected.  _ They had no idea of the levels of punishment a centurion in Caesar’s Legion was expected to be able to endure, and their concepts of the ways in which violence could be employed were as predictable, banal and simplistic as everything else about them.  His lip curled in a slight sneer.  _Go and get your friend,_ he thought.  _It won’t change anything._   The more frustrated Boyd got at not being able to make him talk, the more likely it would be that the NCR would make the mistake he had been counting on, and Silus would be able to escape and make his way to freedom.

A strange, whining, clanking noise intruded on his thoughts, and he glanced up at the door to see Boyd step through it, smiling that ridiculous smile that was probably supposed to be menacing.  “Here’s my friend, Silus,” she said, and stepped aside, clearing the doorframe.  Silus squinted to see beyond—and then went still, his mind blank.

Revealed in the clear space of the doorframe was a huge, hulking figure, so wide that it filled the entire door.  The figure was dressed in a suit of armor that covered it from head to toe, whining with every movement.   As the figure strode into the room, Silus felt his eyes widen involuntarily.  He recognized Powered Armor when he saw it, and it changed the game completely.  There was only so much punishment that one ordinary human could inflict on another, no matter how large or strong, but with Powered Armor….  His eyes jerked to the implacable, masked face of the newcomer, and then to Boyd.  _She doesn’t really mean to—_

Boyd gave him a cool smile.  “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” she said, then looked over at the soldier in armor.  “Don’t play _too_ rough now.”

She  moved toward the door, and Silus called after her, “Lieutenant!” As she glanced back over her shoulder, he tried to calm himself.  “Be serious.  You can’t mean to leave me here with—with _that_.”  He gestured to the hulking, silent armored form.

Boyd gave an exaggerated sigh.  “Don’t get clingy on me now, Silus.  I told you, it was just a summer thing.”  She nodded to the newcomer.  “Have fun,” she told the soldier and then stepped out into the hall beyond.

“ _Lieutenant,_ you can’t—“

 The _click_ of the door locking behind her seemed to echo in the confines of the chamber.

Silus stared warily up at the armored form, a sick tension in his stomach.  When the soldier moved, he recoiled involuntarily, but it was just to reach up and take off the helmet.  There was a _click_ as the seals broke, then a _hiss_ of escaping oxygen.  The soldier lifted the helmet away. Underneath was the face of a woman, in her late twenties or perhaps early thirties.  _Another woman._   Silus couldn’t say he was surprised.  All in Caesar’s Legion knew that it was a measure of the NCR’s weakness that they allowed females into their ranks.   

The woman said nothing, simply staring at him.  The two of them studied each other.  She was deeply tanned, he saw, with dark reddish-brown hair done in the Fallen Angel style popular among the degenerate Wasteland tribes.  Her eyes were pale blue, and her face was set in stony lines.  The silence between them stretched out.  As it did, Silus felt his assurance beginning to return.  _This is a bluff,_ he thought. _A sham Boyd has come up with.  She thinks she can intimidate me into talking._ The more he thought about it, the more he was sure of it.  Boyd needed him alive.  It would be far, far too easy for a person in Powered Armor to seriously injure or kill someone, even if only by accident, during even a light beating.  And there was no way the NCR would condone that.  He knew it in his bones.  _There’s only so much deviation from their foolish standards they’re willing to tolerate._

 As the silence wore on, his confidence flowed back, and he sat back in his chair, looking up at her insolently.  “So you’re….what, now?  You’re here to _bore_ me into talking?”

The woman stared at him. 

“I know you.”   When she spoke, her voice had a strange quality: a low, controlled monotone, not quite rough enough to be called a growl.  It sounded as if she were talking through clenched teeth.  Though he was sure that the woman could not touch him, Silus had to admit the effect was rather intimidating.

“Oh?”  He raised one brow, mentally congratulating her on her adeptness; _at least she didn’t start with the tired old assertion that I would tell her everything I knew._

“You legionaries.  You’re all the same. Everyone knows you as the scum of the Wastes.  Raping, murdering, brutal, sadistic thugs and lowlives.  Barely a step above Fiends.  How about you, Silus?” she growled, taking a step closer.  “How many women have you raped?  How many men?  How many boys?”

He shifted, somewhat off balance.  Boyd had tried this gambit too, but there was something about this new woman’s low not-quite growl that was somehow…unnerving.  It was almost as if she were brimming with barely-suppressed rage.  Controlling himself, he replied with the same answer he’d given Boyd.  “I can’t remember, there have been so many.  Maybe you’ll be next.”   

She stared at him.  Testing, he continued, “Maybe I’ll do it here, on this cell floor.  Throw you down, tear your clothes away, spread your legs and fuck you till you scream.” 

She said nothing, still staring.  Silus pressed further.  “Would you come if I fucked you, I wonder?  How would you _feel?_   Would you be tight, or—“

The woman lunged forward, swinging her body so that her massive shoulder guard came for him.  The concrete clanked under her heavy tread, and she bared her teeth.  Silus couldn’t help himself: he jerked back, his heart jumping, but she stopped short.   _“Try me,_ ” the woman snarled at him.

 _I knew it.  She can’t touch me._   Still….  “Despite what you may have heard about Legionaries, we don’t go in for bestiality,” he replied coolly.  “Although in your case we might make an exception.  You look like, shall we say….”  He paused.  “ _Good breeding stock._ ”

He half-wondered if she were going to lunge at him again, but she held her ground, staring at him. There was a strange, almost unearthly quality about her stare, he realized, almost as if she were not really seeing him at all—rather, looking _through_ him to something on the other side.  Coupled with her low monotone, he allowed that the effect was really quite unsettling.

“I don’t find you threatening,” she said at last, in that same half-growl.  “I _know_ you legionaries.  You’re _weak_.  _Pathetic._   Spineless, sniveling cowards.  All of you die so very, very easily.”

 _That’s **my** line.  _ “Aren’t you supposed to be asking me some questions here?” he said harshly.  “Things like, ‘What’s your troop strength?’ or ‘How are your forces arranged?’  Perhaps ‘What are your upcoming plans of attack?’  Not that I’ll answer you, of course,” he added.  “You’re not doing your job correctly.  I don’t think Lieutenant Boyd is going to be very impressed with your performance.”

She didn’t seem to hear him.  That strange, otherworldly stare bored into him.  “I’ve killed more of you than I care to count,” she ground out.  “Recruits.  Veterans.  Primes.  Vexillarii.  Scouts.  Explorers.  Praetorians.” 

 _All right, now I **know** she’s lying_.  The only praetorians in the Mojave were all holed up in Caesar’s fort.   He eyed her as if sizing her up, and said, “ _You?_   I don’t think so.”

“I wiped out all the legionaries at Nipton.  And at Cottonwood Cove.  Myself.  You’re _all_ weak _._ ”

Silus gave a short laugh.    “At least make your lies _plausible_ ,” he said coldly.  “There’s no way any Waste mercenary scum could take out a whole garrison like….”  Slowly he trailed off.  Because there had been some strange reports about Nipton, just before he was captured, he remembered…. _Vulpes Inculta’s unit had stopped sending messages in.  Nobody was quite sure why… there hadn’t been an NCR unit down that way…and who else could have--_   His eyes jerked up to her face again, and met that piercing stare.  “You _couldn’t_ have—“

Her lips peeled back, exposing just the edges of her teeth.  “Ask me what I found in Aurelius of Phoenix’s oven,” she ground out.  “ _Ask._ ”

A slow, cold sensation was creeping up Silus’s body, starting from his feet and slowly rising up over his legs, his hips, his chest.  Aurelius of Phoenix’s unusual dietary practiceswere an open secret among the legionaries at his echelon, and one reason why the slaving arm of the Legion tried to keep from routing its more valuable merchandise through Cottonwood Cove if at all possible.  _This doesn’t prove anything,_ he tried to reassure himself.  _She got the information from the NCR, that’s all.  Boyd probably gave it to her before she came in here._   The NCR almost certainly had a file on Aurelius, and that information would naturally be in there.   He gave himself a mental shake.  “Strange meat, I expect,” he replied coolly.  “What about it?  Is _that_ what Lieutenant Boyd sent you in here to find out?”

Her lips drew back another millimeter.

“I killed Caesar.”

_“Bullshit.”_

Silus spat the word without having to think.  The woman’s unearthly stare burned.

“I came down the river, on that raft from Cottonwood Cove.  Up out of the water, step by step, through the first ring, the second ring, killing my way into the fort.  Laying waste.   _Kye-sar_ —“ somewhere in the back of his mind Silus noted that she gave the word the correct pronunciation “—was in his tent in the center of camp, on the highest point. Other men were with him.  Someone named Lucius.  Killed him first.  Caesar was a tired, sick man.  I thought it would be harder.  He was _nothing._ ”  The last word was a full growl.  “There’s some Legate in now.  Lanius.  Can’t imagine killing him will be much different.”

 _“Bullshit,_ ” Silus whispered, but it was weak, strengthless.  He knew what it sounded like when people were talking big, and he was hearing none of that in her voice.  Her words held the ring of truth.  _Could it be—  But—  Boyd would have told me, wouldn’t she? **Would** she?  And she said the whole fort— Great Mithras, who **is** this woman?_

 _No.  She’s lying.  She has to be.  “_ That’s _bullshit,_ ” he snarled again.  “Beat me if you want, but there is no way I will believe a degenerate like you could do such a thing. Who are _you?_   You’re filth— _dregs—_ nothing more than weak, _mercenary_ scum—“

Now she came at him, so fast that she was on him before he had time to react.  One moment he was seated in his chair, facing her, then the next he felt his back slam into the wall with unbelievable force.  Her vambraced arm was crushing his chest, cutting off his air, and her face was inches from his own.  Her eyes were huge and brilliant.  _“I’m—a— **courier!**_ ”

 _Courier—what—_ Silus’s mind was spinning.  The pain in his back was making it hard to think.  _What is she talking about--_   Then his thoughts fetched up against a solid fact, like a roulette wheel coming to rest.

“You—you’re the one—“  he managed, choking.  Now it came filtering back—the radio broadcasts, the Legion communications about the courier found shot in the head near Goodsprings—  _“You—_ “ he choked.  “Caesar—wanted to find you—said what you were carrying was valuable—“

 _“I found him first.”_ The words were a snarl.  His feet thrashed, trying to reach the ground; there was nothing there.  She had pinned him far enough up the wall that he could not find the floor beneath him.  Her eyes glared into him.  “And I _paid him back._ ”

“Paid—him—I don’t—“

“The last thing I remember—the _only_ thing I remember—is kneeling with my hands bound at the Goodsprings cemetery while some prick named Benny in a cheap suit put a _gun to my head_ and _pulled the trigger._ ”  The wall behind him vanished and the world spun; then he was smashed into the ground face-first, hard enough to knock the breath from his body. He gasped, struggling to get enough air.  The courier’s voice echoed around him.  “I _know_ Caesar was behind it somehow.  And I paid him back.  Benny—not yet.  But I _will.”_   Silus  couldn’t breathe.  He felt as if he were drowning.  “When I find him, I’m going to pull his arms and legs off _one—by—one_.  Just like the wings off a fly.” One arm was grabbed and wrenched back behind him with superhuman strength.  “Benny’s not here now.  _But you are._ ”

A tremendous, heavy weight dropped onto his back, seeming to squeeze the life out of him.  His arm was wrenched back still further.  He felt a sickening crack, and pain shot through his shoulder.  Fear bloomed in his chest.  _Something’s wrong here.  Something’s very wrong._ The NCR would never let things go this far, of that he was sure.  _They don’t even let their troopers **hit** someone, they’d **never** allow this—_   His arm cracked again, and he felt an additional _crack_ coming from his back.  _Spine—?_   The pressure on his arm was increasing, and there was an awful _creaking_ coming from his shoulder joint.  The courier’s words about Benny flashed through his head—someone in Power Armor would be fully capable of doing just that.  The fear blossomed into panic, and he cried out, “ _Lieutenant!  Lieutenant Boyd!_ ”

The door opened at once with a blessed _click_ and cool air washed over him.  He turned his head against the floor to see the female lieutenant enter the room.  He never thought he would have been so glad to hear her voice. “Now, now, now, calm down there, Samara,” she said.  “You need to pace yourself.  Don’t do everything at once.”

She was using the familiar, cool, ironical tone she had taken with him so often—but there was an undercurrent of tension there he had never heard before. The grip on Silus’s arm did not loosen; in fact, it tightened a bit.  Boyd’s eyes flicked back and forth between him and the courier in a strange way.   And suddenly Silus knew.

 _She didn’t expect this.  She didn’t think things would go this far—and she doesn’t know if she can stop the Courier if she tells her to._   It might have been just a creation of his overly-stressed mind, but in that moment, Silus was sure of it. And he was sure of something else too:  That Boyd was not _going_ to try and stop the Courier.  Because he had given her no reason to do so.  _I’m no good to her dead—but I’m no good to her alive, either.  Not if I don’t talk._

 ** _Fuck_** _this.  I didn’t give myself up in order to die here, in this stinking cell, at the hands of a madwoman._   He swallowed, trying to clear his throat.  “Lieutenant Boyd, your—your friend’s managed to persuade me,” he forced out.  The concrete of the floor dug into the side of his face.  “I’ll answer your questions.  Just get this—“  He coughed and tasted blood on his lips.  “Get this _Fiend_ away from me.”

He had to give Boyd credit; she responded immediately.  “Okay, that’s enough,” she said sharply.  “Let him go.”  The grip on his arm did not loosen.  “I said _let him go._ ” 

For a moment, Silus was afraid the courier would not, but at last she released him.  Fresh pain blossomed as his arm hit the floor by his side, and the terrible weight lifted off his back.  Silus could hear Boyd giving crisp, terse orders; he lay still, grimly trying to assess the damage.  His right arm was a bright, flaming mass of agony.  It hurt to breathe; a sickening, grating sensation came from his rib cage at every breath.  But what really scared him was that he couldn’t seem to feel his legs.  _My back, Great Mithras, she couldn’t have—_

Low words were being exchanged around him.  He heard Lieutenant Boyd saying, “Take him down to medical.  I’ll be down to take his statement in a bit.  See to it that he’s kept under guard.”  Hands were gripping him, by the shoulders and hips; he spared a moment to wonder how Boyd would explain his injuries to her superiors, then – _Blessed Jupiter_ —there was the hiss of a hypospray at his neck, and a curtain of darkness descended.

[*]

“You were a tough nut to crack, Silus,” Boyd said, later.  They were down in the infirmary.  Silus had been placed in a special, internal room with guards on the door, and he was lying in the hospital bed in restraints.  _“It seems like overkill, don’t you think?”_ she had told Colonel Hsu. 

Hsu had given her a jaded glance.  “ _The guy’s a centurion.  I’m not taking any chances.”_

Now she studied him as he lay in the hospital bed.  His arm had been splinted and bandages wrapped his torso.  His normally sallow complexion had gone distinctly yellowish, though that might have been the harsh overhead lighting. As he lay there, he seemed somehow withdrawn; shaken, almost. 

“I’m glad you decided at last to be reasonable and help us out,” she continued.

“I’m in a lot of pain right now, Boyd, so I’m going to let that one go,” he responded in a strained voice.  “Let’s get this over with.  Though I honestly don’t have much to tell you that you will find of use.  You really didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”

“If you’d been cooperative from the start, instead of being an asshole, I wouldn’t have had to,”  Boyd responded.  “Now, why don’t you let me be the judge of how valuable your information is, and start talking?”

Silus started to reply, then grunted and tensed, breathing hard in a spasm of pain.  Boyd frowned.  “Do you want some more Med-X?”

“No,” he forced out through clenched teeth.  “ _God_ -damn…”  After a moment, the spasm passed and he relaxed.  He gave a thin laugh.  “What I _really_ want is some whiskey, if there is any.”

 “I’ll talk to the quartermaster.  If there isn’t, hell, I’ll go rooting around in the evidence locker.  Bound to be some good stuff in there. You’ll have to drink it out of a plastic cup, of course, but it should get you hammered just the same.”  She fell silent.  The sight of Silus’s injuries gave her a nagging sense of unease.  Of course, the guy was a douchebag, but….  She drew a breath, steadying herself.  _At least it worked.  He’s ready to talk now._   “Life can be a lot more pleasant for you now that you’re cooperating, Silus,” she told him.  “I think you’ll see that soon.”

“Fuck you,” he responded tightly.  Boyd raised one eyebrow.

“That’s it?  Hardly up to your usual standards.”

“Best I can do right now, I’m afraid.  I told you, I’m in a _lot_ of pain.  Thanks to your _friend._ ”   He tensed again, hissing through his teeth.  “ _Damn._   The Med-X isn’t helping at all.  Get me that whiskey, Boyd,” he grunted.

“Yeah, well.  I’d say I was sorry, but….it wouldn’t be true, now, would it?”  Carrie Boyd shifted her weight, folding her arms across her chest.

He gave a terse laugh.  “Not sorry _yet._   Let’s see how sorry you are when the NCR leadership catches up to you.”  He paused.  When he spoke again, there was a strange, grudging respect in his voice.  “I must say, I never would have thought any of you gutless NCR maggots would have had it in you.  What you did—it was almost worthy of the Legion.” Silus gave a twisted grin, letting the double-edged compliment sink in. Boyd simply nodded.

“Thank you.  Are you ready to begin talking now?”

“Why not. Nothing I tell you is going to help you, anyway,” he said. “In a year from now, two years at the most, this place will be a graveyard.  The Legion will take this fort and kill or enslave everyone in it.  They’ll stick the leaders’ heads on pikes outside the gates. Maybe you’ll be one of them.  I’ll ask them to add yours especially, because you’ve been… _such_ a _good friend._ ”  Silus forced a laugh, but it lacked strength.  “Anyway, let’s get this over with.”

For the next hour or so, Boyd asked questions, and Silus gave terse, uncommunicative answers, usually in monosyllables.  Boyd could tell he was still trying to reveal as little as possible, but whenever she pressed him, he reluctantly expounded.  Boyd would have to get it all corroborated later, of course, but she already knew enough on her own to tell that at least some of what he gave her was good.  She asked questions for which she already knew the answers, asked the same question different ways, challenged him and pushed him, but everything she got seemed to hang together.  Some of what he told her was out of date,  but much of it was quite valuable.  Among other things, he confirmed the existence of the spy she and Colonel Hsu had suspected at Camp McCarren, and was even able to give extra details.  “I don’t know his NCR cover.  All I can tell you is that his Legion name and rank is Frumentarius Picus, and he’s been here passing reports for a very long time.  I think—“  Silus hesitated. “I can’t be _entirely_ sure, but I _think_ he’s got some sort of orders to destroy the monorail.”

Boyd shivered; her blood chilled within her.  The monorail was their only link to New Vegas, and as such was absolutely critical.  Not only that, but it was irreplaceable; the parts to conduct extensive repairs simply didn’t exist anymore.  If something went wrong with it, they’d be in deep, _deep_ shit.  _I’ve got to get this to Colonel Hsu right away._

“Thank you, Silus,” she said at last.  “You’ve been very helpful.  I’ll have to check out what’s been said, of course, but if it’s true, then some good things will definitely be coming your way.  If it’s not….”  She left it hanging, but saw a flicker of fear in his eyes.  That nagging unease nipped at her again.

“Wait,” he said as she started to leave.  “Now I’ve got some questions to ask _you._ ”

“I’m a busy woman, Silus—“

“You _owe_ me and you know it,” he challenged her.  She stopped and put her hands on her hips. 

“Well…ask away.”

Silus shifted in his restraints.  “How badly am I hurt?” he asked in a low voice.  “My back—what’s wrong with it? The medical officer didn’t go into details.” 

“Your back’s going to be fine, Silus,” Boyd assured him. “Your spine _was_ injured, but the doctor gave you a dose of Hydra.  You should be back to normal within a few days or so. Though I wouldn’t recommend taking a spot on the line any time soon.  Not that that will be possible anyway.”  He closed his eyes, and she saw relief cross his face.  “Anything else?”

“What happens to me now?  I’ve told you everything I know.  What are you going to do with me?”

“Sadly, we’re not going to let you go, if that’s what you’re wondering.  As soon as space on a transport frees up, we’ll ship you back west.  You’ll get to spend the duration of the war in an NCR POW camp.  Just until we’ve finished crushing the Legion.  Think of it as a vacation.”  Silus said nothing.  Boyd studied him, frowning.  _What, no insult?_   “Anyway, I should go and—“

“Wait,” he said quickly.  “One more thing.”

“Make it quick, Silus.”

“I have something else to tell you.”  He paused, tilting his head and regarding her in a strange way.  He seemed to be watching her very closely.  “Something is wrong with Caesar.  I don’t know what, but I’m sure of it.  Before our last deployment, though time was of the essence, he waited three days before giving us the order to march.  He spent those three days in his tent, complaining of headaches.  He _looks_ ill; his face has grown hollow and pale, like that of an old man.  All the centurions and praetorians know he is ill, but he won’t admit it, and no one knows what’s wrong with him.”

 _He’s more than ill._   Boyd remembered the reports of Samara’s actions at the Fort.  When she had first heard that Caesar was dead, she couldn’t believe it; that _Samara_ had done it—singlehandedly—was even more incredible.  _Thank God the woman’s on **our** side._  She ran her eyes over Silus’s battered form. Aloud, she said merely, “Anything else?”

Silus closed his eyes.  His face had gone waxy yellow and there seemed to be dark patches under his lower eyelids.  He said nothing.

“Anyway, I need to go.  Rest up, Silus; you’ve got a long trip ahead of you.”

“Don’t forget that whiskey, Boyd,” he said from behind her as she stepped out the door.

[*]

_Then it’s true.  Caesar is dead._

Silus leaned back against the pillows behind him, gasping as the ends of his broken ribs grated together.  He’d had broken ribs before, many times, and of all the injuries he’d ever had, they were among the worst.  It was true that hand and arm injuries could render one helpless for a time, but even so, they were nothing compared to the pain, discomfort, inconvenience and immobility of rib injuries.  He breathed shallowly, waiting for the pain to subside, and after a time, it passed.

 _Mithras take it all, Caesar’s actually dead._   He’d known, in some part of his mind, that that courier woman was telling the truth; he just hadn’t wanted to believe it.  But when he’d spoken of Caesar’s illness to Boyd, he’d watched her face very carefully.  He’d seen something there—not much, but _something_ —  _He’s dead.  And she never told me. **Why** didn’t she tell me?  Why didn’t—_

His ribs stabbed at him again and he set his jaw, grimly enduring the pain.  The medical officer had given him a hypo of Med-X, but it didn’t seem to be touching this.  _Looks like I picked the right time to bail on the Legion._   He’d thought Caesar had been losing it for months now, had been quietly looking for an opportunity to slip away, though never to the NCR.  He’d thought that the Legion would simply disintegrate slowly around Caesar, fraying, growing loose around the edges.  _What was that old line—“Things fall apart; the center cannot hold--?”  But with Lanius in charge—_

A cold wave washed over him at the thought.  Lanius had been Caesar’s second in command, a mad dog as brutal as he was effective.  Silus had dared to allow himself to fall into the NCR’s hands because he’d bargained that Caesar would be willing to leave him alone as long as he kept his mouth shut.  _But Lanius…._

Lanius would hunt him down just for fleeing _._   If it got back to him that he’d _talked_ ….

 _The **best** I could hope for would be the cross.  The worst…._  His mind shied away from the prospect.  **_Shit._**   He clenched his fists.  _Mithras’s dangling balls, maybe it’s a damn **good** thing I’m in NCR hands.  Gods damn it all, it may be the one place he can’t get to me._   He heard himself give a short, shaky laugh.

And all of that meant— _what_ —for him?

He rolled his head back against the pillows.  A wave of fatigue overcame him.  Suddenly he felt an overwhelming urge to just push the whole matter out of his head.  He was too tired and hurt to deal with it now.  Later would be time enough to try and figure out whatever was coming to him.  _Now is the time to rest and regain your strength.  Deal with later when it happens._

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.  Eventually, despite the pain and the uncertainty, he managed it.

[*]

After leaving the infirmary, Boyd’s very next stop was Colonel Hsu’s office.  Although acknowledging that it would all have to be corroborated and cross-checked, he was impressed with the information she had managed to get out of Silus, and the threat against the monorail made him sit up straight in his chair. 

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured.  Seeing Boyd was smoking, he gave a half-laugh.  “Mind if I have one of those?”

“Help yourself,” she said around her cigarette, and held out the pack to him.  Hsu took one and lit it, pulling on it deeply.

“Damn it, Boyd, that’s worth a bonus all by itself.  If we lose that monorail, we’ve lost New Vegas.  I’ll get someone on this _immediately_.  The question is who can we trust?”  He frowned in thought for a moment.  “Is that Courier still around?

“Samara?” Boyd asked.  “Yeah, she’s out in the hall.”

“Good.  Tell her to hang around.  I’ll want to talk to her very shortly.  At least she hasn’t been here long enough that she could be the spy.”   He shook his head. 

When Boyd stepped out of the office, she saw Samara’s bulky form lingering on the other side of the hall, simply waiting.  Her unassuming doctor friend was with her, and her modified eyebot ED-E hovered around her head like a bristling moon.  Catching Samara’s eye, Boyd nodded to her, and the Courier approached, her armored tread ringing on the concrete. 

“Did he talk?” she asked.

Boyd nodded.  “Sang like a bird.  You were _great._   I ought to have you work on all my prisoners.”  Samara nodded.  She gave a small smile, one that did not reach her eyes.  “We got some excellent stuff , including one extremely critical piece of information that we’re going to have to deal with right away.  Colonel Hsu is going to want to see you in a few minutes, so don’t go running off.”  She paused, feeling that tiny nibble of unease.  “Some of what you did might have been…a little excessive,” she mentioned carefully.

Samara’s expression set like stone.  “He’s Legion scum.  All those Legion bastards deserve what they get.”   Her face grew even harder.  “Every time I think they can’t possibly get any worse, they do.  When I killed Aurelius of Phoenix, there was—“  Her jaw set and she looked away.  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.  Christ, I don’t even want to _think_ about it.”  Behind her, she saw Samara’s doctor friend— _Arcade, I think he’s called_ —paling a shade or two.

Carrie Boyd nodded.  “Oh, I’d believe it, all right,” she said grimly.

Now Samara looked back at her.  “Will you get in trouble because of what I did?”

Boyd shook her head.  “Given the toughness of the prisoner and the critical value of the intelligence we got, probably not.  Especially since you didn’t do anything irreparable.  Even if I do though, what we got was good enough that it was worth it.”  She offered a smile.  “Not least to see the smug look knocked off the bastard’s face.”

Samara nodded again, and gave that small, not-quite smile.  Boyd studied her.  “Why do you hate the Legion so much?” she asked. 

“Because they deserve to be hated,” Samara replied curtly.

“Can’t argue with you there,” Boyd agreed, “but it seems almost…personal with you.  I know the Legion are monsters, but the Mojave is _filled_ with monsters.”

“Yes.  The Mojave _is_ filled with monsters,” Samara agreed stonily, “and the Legion’s the worst of the lot.”  She paused.  “I saw what was left of Nipton.  Got there shortly after they’d taken over the town.  It was my first experience with the Legion.  Let’s just say, they didn’t make a very good impression.”  Her eyes were cold.  Her hand tightened on the stock of the Multiplas Rifle she always carried with her.  “What the Legion did with the people there—okay, they were Powder Gangers, but _still …._   I cleaned that place out myself.  Put those poor bastards they’d crucified out of their misery.”  Boyd nodded; she’d done the same.  It was never easy work.  “I’ve got my own problems to deal with—God knows I do—but _any_ chance I get to strike a blow against those vile beasts, I’ll take.”

Boyd nodded.  “That guy, Benny, you were telling Silus about in there.  The one who shot you.  He was involved with them?”

“Benny?”  Samara shook her head.  “Not that I know of.  I just said that to scare Silus.  I did find him at Caesar’s Fort, but it was because Caesar was holding him prisoner.   I let him go,” she added.  “Though I wouldn’t have, if he’d been a Legionary.”

“You let him go.  Really.”  Boyd regarded her.  “I’m surprised.  He shot you, after all.”

Samara shrugged.  “Benny’s a nobody.  A prick in a cheap suit, just like I told Silus.  He was never a contender, though he’d’ve liked to think otherwise.”  Her eyes grew stony again.  “The one I want is the one who put me in that position to start with.  I want _House._ ”

Boyd took a drag on her cigarette.  “Good luck with _that._   From what I hear, Mr. House isn’t even human.”

“He’s not.  But I’ll find a way.”

“Anyway, I need to get back to work,” Boyd said.  “Thanks again for your help.    I just may give you a call if we get any more Legion centurions.  We’d never have cracked the guy without you.  Where _did_ you get that Powered Armor, by the way?” she asked curiously.  “I don’t know anyone around here who even _sells_ any, let alone can give training.”

“From some friends of mine.  You wouldn’t know them.”  Samara shifted, listening.  “Sounds like Colonel Hsu is ready for me.  I should go.”

“Thanks again,” Boyd told her, and went on her way as Samara entered the Colonel’s office.

[*]

Boyd got a good night’s sleep that night and it wasn’t until she woke the next morning that she heard the news in the mess hall—that Samara had found and disarmed a bomb on the monorail literally minutes before it had been set to go off, and that the spy himself had been caught and exposed.

“It was Captain Curtis,” Corporal Farber told her as he dished up bacon and eggs in the chow line.  “That’s what _I_ heard.  They caught him up in the radio tower, red-handed.  He tried to shoot his way out when the MPs came for him and now he’s dead.”

“That son of a bitch, I _knew_ it,” Boyd said.  “And he was the one in charge of the camp’s internal security, too.”

“Always the last person  you’d expect,” Farber said.  “Thank God the monorail’s saved, at least.” He wiped his brow fervently.

All throughout the morning, the camp was buzzing about what had happened and almost happened.  Samara was gone again, on one of her mysterious trips, but Boyd got the whole story from Colonel Hsu, who confirmed that yes, the timing on saving the monorail had in fact been as close as gossip had it. Paperwork dealing with wrapping up the whole situation kept her busy throughout the day, and it wasn’t till mid-afternoon that she had time to step out for a break.

As she stepped out into the concourse, she caught sight of Silus, standing across the way at the monorail terminus, flanked by guards.  The Hydra was doing its work, she could tell; not only was he standing under his own power but the spinal stabilizer had been removed, as had the splint on his left arm.  The latter had been replaced by a simple forearm brace.  His hands were cuffed behind his back, and the three guards were watching him closely; the man might be injured, but he was still a centurion as well as an extremely valuable prisoner.  Boyd started toward him.

“Getting ready to move out, Silus?” she called, motioning the guards to stand down as she approached.

Silus raised his head, startled, and caught sight of her.  The familiar stony mask was in place; she’d seen it slip a bit, during his interrogation, but now it was back.  “Looks like.   War’s over for me.  Least for the time being.”  He gave a harsh, half-laugh, half-cough, then studied her.  “Watch out for yourself, Boyd,” he said at last, tersely.  He paused, then added, “After all, if anyone puts a slave collar around that pretty neck of yours, I want it to be me.”

“Why Silus, you old dog.  I didn’t know you cared.”  Boyd flicked a cigarette alight.  “I’m a married woman, you know. You really shouldn’t say such things to me.”  She took a deep drag on the cancer stick, pulling the smoke deep into her lungs.  “Enjoy all that good California sunshine.  Who knows, if you ask nice enough, maybe the prison guards will take you to the beach. Be a shame to be that close to the ocean for the first time and not get to go for a dip.”

“I can’t swim,” Silus said, deadpan.   Boyd simply nodded.

“I’ve got to say, thanks for the information you gave us yesterday.  If you hadn’t spoken up when you did, we’d have lost the monorail last night.”

“So it was true then?”

“Yep.  Caught the spy red-handed, disarmed the bomb with minutes to spare.  And it was all thanks to you.”

Silus shrugged.  “It won’t matter in the long run.  The Legion will overrun the NCR within a year, no matter what you do.  Nothing I tell you can change that.”  He edged a step closer to her, then stopped as the guards raised their weapons.  “Here’s a free bit of advice, from me to you.  I know that Caesar’s dead and Lanius is in charge—“

Boyd took another puff.  “Now who told you that?  Someone’s been a naughty boy or girl.”

“Never mind how I know.  Just listen to me.”  His face grew grim.  “Lanius is a brute.  He’s the most cruel, vicious, sadistic man I’ve ever met, and coming from me, that’s saying something.”  His mouth twisted.  “He’s also _incredibly_ gifted in combat.  In the Legion, you fight your way up the ranks, so the fact that he was Caesar’s number two should tell you something right there.  To be honest, I don’t think _any_ of you NCR pukes could take him.  The only one of you I’ve seen who _could_ —“  Here, he glanced up the passage to where Samara’s armored form loomed, in a shaft of sunlight.  Her spiky robot floated around her helmet, and she appeared to be conversing with that doctor who followed her around.  As Silus’s eyes landed on her, Boyd didn’t miss the way he paled a shade or two.  “Your courier there.  _Maybe._   When this whole thing breaks loose, and we all know it’s going to soon— _stay the hell away from him._ ” 

Silus met her eyes directly then and Boyd could see the seriousness in them. She snorted a laugh.

“You know, in a strange way, I think I’m going to miss you, Silus.”  Outside, she heard the sound of an engine starting up.  “Sounds like it’s time for you to go.  Have a good trip.”

Silus responded with a short nod.  Boyd took another drag on her cigarette and stood watching as the guards led him out the door to the waiting transport beyond.

_Finis._


End file.
